


Little Talks

by helloshepard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Banter, Drabble Collection, Gen, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9048673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: Brianna tries, really tries, and hopes her face has smoothed out into an approximation of its usual blank mask.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Secret santa fic for tumblr user florafaunaandeldritchhorrors. I hope you enjoy!

_**Junk** _

Were she not used to it, maintaining an air of indifference would have been _exhausting._

It is a trait acquired more naturally than it is taught, she reasons, watching Mical sort through the mountains of miscellaneous items in the _Hawk's_ cargo bays—none of it valuable, or else some previous owner of the ship would've sold it long ago—and carefully sorts it into neat piles. Occasionally he sets aside a random piece of equipment (for Bao-Dur, she knows) or takes the odd datapad to Visas's quarters.

She sits and helps, quietly deciding for herself which items to put into which pile (keep, sell, dump). Mical doesn't seem to mind when she accidentally puts a medikit in the _sell_ pile—and Brianna guesses he's glad _someone_ is willing to help. Force knows no-one else ever ventures into the cargo bay.

On his part, Mical is content to sort things into his own piles, quietly murmuring to himself about the latest historical find the exile had run into. Once or twice an hour he asks her what she thinks of so and so, who lived two hundred years before she was born, or about the flora on the planet they had just visited.

Brianna shrugs.

Brianna shrugs, and Mical goes back to his work.

_**Heartsick** _

“You miss your mother.”

It is a statement, an observation.

Not a question.

Gut clenching, Brianna turns to face Mical. The psuedo-Jedi crouches amongst the piles of keep, sell, and dump. Despite what she imagines _her_ face looks like, his is neutral.

Brianna tries, really tries, and hopes her face has smoothed out into an approximation of its usual blank mask.

“I see you and the exile have been talking.”

“No.” Mical pauses. “I mean, we do talk, but not about you.”

Mical coughs awkwardly. Brianna is silent, letting the man stew for a moment. Then:

“Any other observations?”

“You don't like the Force. Hate it, perhaps.” Mical scratches his chin, chewing over his words. “Not so much as Atton, but what it has done to you, to your family...”

Brianna raises a brow.

“I understand.”

She lets out a relieved breath, and somehow, it sounds more like a sigh.

_**Thunder** _

Storms blanket Malachor V.

Storms similar to the crew's mood now, Brianna thinks. Her shoulders are still tense from the spat with Visas, and she can hear G0-T0 and Mira shouting in the hall.

The tension creeps up on her, sending itches down her neck. She takes a breath. Centers herself.

She might not have accepted the exile's offer to train her, but she would be a fool to think only Jedi learn to be calm.

She waits, letting the ship wash over her. Carefully, she dodges the fear that is surging towards her and stands still, slowly waiting for the anxiety to dissipate.

Until Atton bumps her shoulder. He _does_ mutter an apology as he storms back to the cockpit, though that apology is laced with a curse in a language she cannot identify.

She opens her eyes and goes to the source of Atton's frustration.

It is one of the few times she has seen Mical upset. Annoyed, certainly. But upset...despite herself, despite her indifference, Brianna finds herself in the doorway.

“I understand.” she says.

 


End file.
